


Of Death's Twilight Kingdom

by WineGum (ZombieGiraffes)



Series: Fated Stars [1]
Category: Tron (1982), Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Evolution, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 02:15:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombieGiraffes/pseuds/WineGum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rinzler flicks his eyes between the programs before him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Death's Twilight Kingdom

Rinzler flicks his eyes between the programs before him. To the left, one with blue-white circuits. Heavy build to his code. Strong. Possibly slow.

Don’t underestimate him. Part of his mind whispers.

To the right, one with green circuits,bare chest. A Bostrumite. Alive. Impossible. A rumbling growl rises deep from his chest as he studies the ISO. He needs to be destroyed, but he is too tense, too restless to be a real threat. He discounts him fron his consideration and turns to the third program, kneeling close before him.

Small. Weak looking. Familiar.

Rinzler searches through his memory files. How had these inferior programs overpowered him, brought him here, bound him? He can’t recall the memory.

“What now?” Asks the Bostrumite, shifting from foot to foot. Rinzler flicks his eyes towards him and glares at him. The program actually shifts backwards. Pathetic.

The small program on his knees frowns, studying the disc he holds in his hands. My disc, Rinzler thinks, possessively, lurching forward, growling, no one else touches his disc but Clu. He will tear this program pixel from pixel.

“I don’t know,” the program whispers, eyes fixed on Rinzler, and Rinzler wants to laugh in his face. Of course he doesn’t know.

The program looks pained. Good. He strokes a hand over the disc, which flares to life, and red code flares and coalesces into an image of Rinzler’s face. The program stares down at it, and murmurs, quiet and soft like some trembling bit “We’re going to fix you, Tron.”

At that, Rinzler does laugh. A harsh, grating sound. “Tron is dead.” He laughs.

The small familiar, friend, program stares with wide eyes at some point just beyond Rinzler’s disc. He looks like he’s glitched, and Rinzler feels a surge of pleasure at that. These programs are too easy.

The heavy, blue-white circuited program comes forward, and rests a hand on the small program’s shoulder, cocks his head slightly. The Bostrumite comes forward too, says, low and nervous “Anon’s right, Ram, we need to keep moving.”

‘Ram’ nods, and stands up slowly, Rinzler’s disc still clutched in his hands. He looks down at Rinzler with sad, but determined eyes and says again, stronger than before, as if he actually believes it, “We’re going to fix you, Tron.”


End file.
